Prometheus
by Elisia
Summary: Rather AU, the source of Schwartz's psychic powers is catching up with them, and like it or not, Weiss is going to get involved...Ch 2 is up!
1. Prologue

Hey eveyone! I decided to post this, even if I never get around to writing the actual story...K-chan would never forgive me if I didn't! Anyway, this prologue is incredibly AU, and the rest of the story will also be, if I ever get around to writing it. ^_^;; Um, other warnings? Several original characters, death, (though only original characters, I just can't bring myself to kill off someone that doesn't belong to me!), there will be yaoi-ish tones later, and beware of extreme corniness ^_~. At any rate, I don't own anyone from Weiss, but the original characters, the Readers, and the Prometheus Foundation DO belong to me, so if for some odd reason you want to use them, ask before you take! Arigato and enjoy! ^_^  
  
A note: "_italics_" are personal thoughts, ":_italics_:" are thought-speak.  
  
  
  
Prometheus  
  
By Elisia  
  
Prologue  
  
  
  
  
An exhausted silence lurked in a dusty, paper filled newsroom. Light from the flashing neon sign across the street seeped through the window. Shadows hid in the corners of the room, not quite strong enough to brave the week light that flickered on and off. File cabinets and stacks of old newspapers hugged the walls, surrounding two men who sat opposite each other on aluminum folding chairs. They stared at one another with utmost concentration across a rubber-topped table. Perched uncomfortably on his metal chair, a tired looking reporter studied the restless young man before him, his first and only source of information on the enigmatic corporation known as the Prometheus Foundation.  
  
The reporter's coworkers would have been shocked to find out that he had finally managed to get the dirt on one of the largest scientific research facilities in Japan. No one, _no one_, knew what exactly the prestigious Foundation researched. Scientists who worked there were almost alarmingly tight lipped, and all possible sources thus far had turned out to be false. But the reporter's scoop finding instincts told him that this time it was different. This man _knew_ something. And praise God, he was talking.  
  
Chewing his lip with anticipation, professional gossip set a tape recorder on the table and pushed play with an audible 'click.'  
  
"Let's get started. Now, what kind of research is this Foundation of yours doing?"  
  
"First of all, it is not 'my' foundation. I do not wish to be associated with the Prometheus Foundation, or its employees, in any way."  
  
"Alright." The reporter leaned back in his chair. "So what are they working on up there? Cloning? Nuclear weapons?"  
  
"To put it simply, human psychic force."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"The scientists of the Prometheus Foundation study and measure the amounts of psychic energy that human beings emit. Think of it as…mental power. By using test subjects from several different backgrounds, the Foundation seeks to uncover the secrets of man's psychic ability."  
  
"Are you joking?"  
  
"No."  
  
"It seems a little...farfetched."  
  
"So did cloning a few years ago. According to the scientists and researchers of the Prometheus Foundation, the roles of society are completely based on psychic levels."  
  
"Wait a minute, did you say 'psychic levels?'"  
  
"Yes. According to current Foundation studies, every person is born with the capacity for a certain amount of psychic energy. Each mature human has his own unchanging Human Psychic Force, or HPF, level. There are many different levels, from minimal psychic power to the extreme. An average placement on the HPF scale is 110. Any individuals that register higher than 190 HPF are referred to as 'psychics'."  
  
"I'm guessing that it's impossible to tell the psychics from the rest of us."  
  
"The psychics _are_ the rest of us. There is no real difference between someone with a 100 HPF and a 200 HPF, except for the pure potential. According to Foundation studies, the average human being is drawn to others of the same HPF level. On the other hand, people tend to dislike individuals with a much higher or lower HPF. The Foundation researchers have found that social interactions between humans are based entirely on psychic energy levels. Who your friends are, the women you are attracted to, whether you like your boss or not, its all determined, in part, by your HPF level."  
  
"I find that hard to believe."  
  
"Believe what you want. I have study and research printouts, as well as other documents, if you would like to see them."  
  
"Yes, I would very much like to see them." A grubby manila envelope exchanged hands and the reporter's muddy eyes widened in shock as he shuffled through the papers within.  
  
"One of the top scientists, Dr. Yoshitomo Sugimoto, discovered that through certain…mental stimulations…he could mold the psychic force of psychics of jenus level to..."  
  
"Hold it, 'jenus?'"  
  
"Hm. Think 'genius' in IQ terms. Basically, someone with a 220 HPF or higher. Jenus psychics are all Sugimoto is interested in. He could care less for the 'lower psychics,' because they don't have enough psychic force to make any use of."  
  
"How...exactly...does he 'make use' of them?"  
  
"You've seen sci-fi movies. You've heard of telepaths. Mind readers. You've heard tales of people moving objects with their thoughts, of people who are able to see the future. If you are really familiar with the subject, you've also heard of pyrokinesis, empathy, and telempathy. These things _do_ exist outside of make-believe. However, it takes massive amounts of psionic energy to fuel these 'powers.'"  
  
The newsman slowly shook his head back and forth. "How does this...Sugimoto...do this?"  
  
"I'm not entirely sure how he does it. He likes to call it 'stabilizing.' To make it seem as if what he does to them is actually for their own good."  
  
"Its not?"  
  
"No. The experience is quite..." the source shuddered a bit, shook his head and changed the subject.  
  
"He creates these 'psionic warriors', as he calls them," the scruffy young man snorted, "and uses them to his own gain, which is often illegal."  
  
"Doesn't he have higher ups? A boss, or something?"  
  
"He _used_ to. His psychics took care of them. He now controls the Prometheus Foundation from the very top, and few of his researchers even know of his 'after hour' activities."  
  
"Why do all these psychics work for him so eagerly? Do they get a cut?"  
  
The reporter's source tapped his fingers on the cold table nervously. He threw a quick glance around the room and shifted closer to the older man as if he planned to tell him a wonderful secret.  
  
"Do you smoke? I could really use a cigarette right now."  
  
"Sure, here you go."  
  
Absently brushing a strand of dark hair behind one ear and placing the unlit cigarette in his lips, the young man asked, "Got a light?"  
  
"Here."  
  
He puffed on his cigarette for a few moments before sighing and continuing with his explanations. "The psychics don't work for him willingly, at least, not in most cases."  
  
"Then why...?"  
  
"Let's get to that subject later."  
  
The reporter blinked a few times and made a mental note to bring up that topic later on. "Alright. You said that most of the psychics are unwilling. Meaning that they're held against their will. Has there ever been any escapes from the facility?"  
  
"Only twice, that I know of. Security is very tight. Two years ago, when Sugimoto was first beginning his research, he secured and 'stabilized' four individuals of extreme psychic ability. I don't know the details. All I know is that they were from very different backgrounds, and were mostly my age."  
  
The reporter carefully examined his source. Asian, definitely; the newsman's first guess was Chinese. The young man could not have had more than twenty-two years at the very most, though his tired eyes said different. He seemed to have a high-strung nature, constantly fidgeting and looking over his shoulder. At best, he looked like a flaky con man trying to make a few bucks selling a bizarre story to some gullible reporter.  
  
Two things stood in his defense. The fact that he was not asking for money, and the contents of that manila envelope.  
  
The nameless young man continued. "Sugimoto planned on making the ultimate 'psychic force'. You see, he and his scientists had recently discovered that people of unusually high psychic ability work extremely well in quads. That is, groups of four. He wanted to use these four young men as his psionic elite. The Alpha Quad, he called them." He shook his head violently and sneered at his cigarette. "It didn't work out quite as he planned."  
  
The young man paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and the reporter shifted uncomfortably on his hard seat.  
  
"There was a telekinetic, capable of moving objects, even people, with his mind alone. I have also heard that, of the four, he was the youngest. Barely more that a child. Then there was the telepath who could pluck your thoughts from the air and throw them back in your face. Which he often did, I'm told. Oddly enough, that one gained an extra skill, one Sugimoto and his horde of scientists have been unable to duplicate."  
  
"And that is?"  
  
"He moved with blinding speed, so fast that it was impossible for even your eyes to follow him. Probably some form of telekinesis or teleportation ability. The third was the pre-cog."  
  
"Pre-cog?"  
  
"It's a technical term for someone who can see the future. An oracle, if you will. Sugimoto found this to be the most difficult aspect of psionics to create. As a result, the pre-cog's abilities were nowhere near as successful as those of the telepath or the telekinetic. He could read the future and, sometimes, make decisions accordingly to change it. But he was never able to choose when he received his visions, or what they were of."  
  
The source suddenly looked mildly ill and seemed reluctant to go on.  
  
"And the fourth?"  
  
"The fourth. The fourth was what all of Sugimoto's psychics wish to never be. A failure. From what I hear, the boy was already bonkers. The experience of 'stabilization' only drove him to further insanity. Not that Sugimoto minded. Encouraged it, in fact. The more insane they are, the easier it is to control them. I don't know what those scientists planned for that fourth boy, but despite several attempts, he never showed the desired affects."  
  
"Wow. That must have sucked for the psychic."  
  
"You have no idea. These four, three of Sugimoto's greatest achievements and his only failure, banded against him and managed to escape. Sugimoto has never succeeded in recapturing his experiments, but not for lack of trying, that's for sure. It's assumed that these escaped psychics have stayed in their original quad, for once one has formed it is difficult to break them up. Their location is unknown, but the Foundation will do anything, and I mean _anything_, to get them back."  
  
The reporter sat for a moment in silence while he formed his next question.  
  
"How many of these…'psionic warriors' does the Foundation control?"  
  
"Heh, control is the right word. Aside from their groundbreaking research in HPF and 'supernatural' powers, Foundation scientists have also made great headway in the field of mind control. Since the escape of the Alpha Quad, Sugimoto has been tightening his security by attempting to obtain complete control over his psychics. He currently uses a combination of hypnosis-like mind control, DNA adjustments and computer chips."  
  
"_Computer_ chips?"  
  
"Yep, though only in extreme cases. Normally, the threat of being thrown to the Readers," his mouth twisted distastefully around the word, "is more than reason enough to stay loyal."  
  
"Readers?"  
  
"They have been designed to absorb psychic power as well as assist in the acquisition of psychics."  
  
"Designed?"  
  
"What are you, an echo? Is everything out of your mouth a question?"  
  
"I'm a reporter. Questions are my job."  
  
"Right."  
  
The source took a long drag on his cigarette.  
  
"Yes, Readers are designed. They were used to locate and track viable and powerful psychics. Now, they are mostly used to kidnap children. Though a simple trip to the local school will often bring back a few jenus psychics..."  
  
"_Children_?" The reporter sat up suddenly, "What on earth does the Foundation want _children_ for?"  
  
The dark haired man avoided the reporter's eyes.  
  
"Small children have massive amounts of psychic energy. In most cases, their HPF lowers as they age, reaching their permanent HPF level at about sixteen, depending on how quickly the subject matures. Readers, originally created for the sole purpose of 'harvesting' strong psychics, were once children. By warping a child's DNA and greatly manipulating their psychic force, an unintelligent, hideously inhuman creature is created that is capable of both gauging HPF levels accurately and emitting an extremely powerful burst of psychic energy to kill or immobilize its victims."  
  
"My God."  
  
"However, their altered genetic state causes rapid aging, so Readers lose their psionic power and die about three months after they are created. Therefore, 'new blood' is needed to fill out the ranks."  
  
The newsman pulled a stained cloth from his shirt pocket and wiped a few beads of sweat from face. "You mentioned a connection between small children and jenus psychics...?"  
  
"Yes. As I said before, the original purpose of the Readers was to locate and obtain psychics with a high HPF count. As I also mentioned earlier, individuals with matching levels of psychic ability are drawn together. Oddly enough, even though child HPF counts are very high, often reaching the 230's in the younger ones, only about a fourth of the Foundation's test subject jenus psychics were noticeably drawn to children. Researchers discovered that people holding jobs that involve children, like a teacher, a football coach, or an ice cream man, are often jenus level psychics. Because of this, it is often easy to locate powerful psychics through their association with children."  
  
"But I thought you said only a fourth..."  
  
"True, but it is very rare to find a lone jenus psychic. The higher the HPF level, the more dependent an individual is on his, or her, comrades. That is the reason for the quads. Despite what he or she might tell themselves, a lone jenus psychic is terribly uneasy. Find one, and he will surely lead you to others."  
  
The reporter's source stood and walked to a nearby file cabinet. He dropped his cigarette on the concrete floor and methodically rubbed the butt out with the toe of his shoe. He stared at the blinking neon sign for a few moments, deep in his own thoughts. Suddenly, he cocked head as if he had heard a silent noise, and his eyes went vacant. Paling, he turned to the older man.  
  
"This interview is over."  
  
Desperate to get more information, the reporter wracked his brain for any question that might keep his visibly upset informant in the room longer.  
  
"Wait! Before, you said there were two escapes from the Foundation, but you only told me of one. Who was the other?"  
  
The young man said absentmindedly, "That would be me."  
  
"You...you're a...?"  
  
"I wish you luck, and I pray that you survive to print your story."  
  
Turning quickly on his heel, the reporter's only source fled from the room.  
  
Stunned by the sudden departure of his last link to the Prometheus Foundation, the reporter sat for a few moments listening to the wind before he turned off the recorder. He picked up the manila envelope and began to take notes. It was going to be tough to decide how much information to put into the first story. His pencil paused.  
  
"What a story," he murmured, "if its true..."  
  
He shook his head is disbelief.  
  
Would the newspaper even let him print the story? If it were on word of mouth alone, almost certainly not. His editor would tell him to go feed his story to one of the supermarket tabloids. Such a tale was suited better for those gossip columns anyway. If it wasn't for that envelope full of documents...  
  
_I suppose its possible that this is an elaborate hoax, but somehow that just doesn't sit right..._  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the sinister whisper of a child.  
  
_:he is not here, not here:_  
  
The soundless voice seemed to echo around the room. Terror surged into the reporter's gut and he clutched the chair in utter panic. His eyes bulged and he prayed for a miracle.  
  
_:gone, yesss, gone:_  
  
_Oh God help me..._  
  
_:one there, there is:_  
  
_:not the one:_  
  
_:no, not him not him:_  
  
_Oh, God_, he thought, bile stinging the back of his throat, _OH GOD its true...these are...these are Readers..._  
  
_:he knows us:_  
  
_:we cannot be known:_  
  
The horrified man felt feather-soft touches at the edges of his mind. _Please, don't_...he thought desperately.  
  
_:do:_  
  
With a shredding sensation that left his body rigid, the unlucky reporter's whole existence was ripped from his body and mentally devoured by empty, ravenous minds. He didn't even have the strength to draw a breath to scream, and was dead before he touched the floor.  
  
There was complete silence for a few moments save for the soft creaking of the run down ceiling fan. A skinny, angular shape drifted across the dark room with a faint clicking noise. It peered at the dented tape recorder, then grasped it and crushed it in one bony hand. Lifting the remains to its mouth, it daintily sank its teeth into the unraveling cassette tape and crunched it thoughtfully.  
  
Another form skittered in, seemingly from out of thin air, and leapt with wobbly grace onto the tabletop, where it carefully shredded the scattered papers with clumsy demi-human hands. Finished, it turned to its companion and chirped lovingly.  
  
_:no:_  
  
_:we cannot be known:_  
  
~Owari~  
  
  
  
Chapter One will come out sooner or later, I hope. Maybe I'll see you then? *gives you a cookie* Toodles! ^_^


	2. Crawford's Premonition (Ch 1)

Untitled Hi minna! I finally got chapter one up, kudos to me! Usual disclaimers apply, I don't own Weiss, blah blah blah, I do own Prometheus, the Readers, and Siu, blah blah blah, ask before you take...etc. Rated R for swearing. Please read the Prologue first. Enjoy! (I hope ^_~)  
  
  
Prometheus  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Crawford's Premonition  
  
  
  
"We are the bringers of fire. We are the source of life. You owe all to us. We are Prometheus. Return to our folds or be burned."  
  
The world was barren. The amber sky and the russet ground crashed together violently at a horizon that was as sharp as a guillotine. An arid wind raced across the dusty earth hurling displaced particles of dirt at anything that stood in its path. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing. At first.  
  
At the farthest edge of the horizon, four faceless figures appeared. They move forward with an unreal speed, faster, faster, until they were but blurs flying towards the center of nowhere.  
  
"Weiss, its Weiss..."  
  
Brad Crawford couldn't move. His feet were rooted to the spot. The air left his lungs and he suddenly forgot how to breathe. Terror pounded in his ears and his mouth was suddenly as dry as the dust beneath his feet. It was like a nightmare...it _was_ a nightmare...  
  
_A vision_...he thought with a relieved exhalation of breath. _Only a vision_... Then realization hit him.  
  
"Prometheus has Weiss!?"  
  
The four figures came to an abrupt and seemingly bone-jarring stop a few feet from the shaking American. The figures remained faceless, but Crawford recognized the stances and outlines of the assassin team that he and the rest of Schwartz had fought on several occasions. One, the leader, whom Crawford knew only as Abyssinian, slowly extended a shadowed hand and spoke in a deep, commanding voice.  
  
"Return to us."  
  
Finally gaining control of his legs, Crawford took a quick step back.  
  
"Never."  
  
"You misunderstand."  
  
Brad shook his head violently and retreated a few more steps. He struggled to keep the fear out of his voice and yelled, "I understand perfectly! I'm not going back! Ever!"  
  
"You do not have a choice."  
  
Crawford turned to make a mad dash for freedom, only to find his way already blocked by two of the Weiss members. He glanced over his shoulder at the faceless figure of Abyssinian and desperately tried to push past the two shadows. Suddenly, a powerful shock of psychic energy burst through his body, numbing all of his nerves and causing his sight to blacken. All of the strength in his legs left him, and he slowly sank to his knees. A sudden wind seemed to pluck his breath from his throat and he helplessly gasped for air.  
  
"Find the others. If they do not come willingly, take appropriate action."  
  
The three faceless assassins nodded silently and sped off in three separate directions. Only the leader, Abyssinian, remained. He calmly studied the incapacitated Crawford and the shadows on his face shifted into a cold, sinister grin.  
  
  
***************************************  
  
  
Bradley Crawford jerked awake, panting, sweaty, and terrified.  
  
_:Schuldich...:_  
  
No answer.  
  
_:Schuldich.:_  
  
_:Go 'way, I'm sleepin'.:_  
  
Crawford's thoughts were tinged with panic.  
  
_:Schuldich!:_  
  
_Dammit!_ Schuldich thought as he reluctantly pulled himself from sleep. _He's had himself one whopper of a vision, and not a very pleasant one, I'll bet._  
  
Luckily for Schuldich, Crawford rarely had his premonitions at night. However, when he did, they were more often than not mingled with nightmares, and sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between what was vision and what was dream. Not that, in most cases, one was better than the other.  
  
Groaning and tumbling out of his messy bed, Schuldich stretched and made his way out of his cluttered room. Dirty and clean clothes mingled with eachother on the floor while various fashionable accessories crowded any empty space. The off-white walls were bare save for a crookedly tacked poster of a semi-popular German rock band. Schuldich absentmindedly considered turning on the only light in the room, a neon blue lava lamp, then decided against it. _If I'm lucky, I'll be back in bed asleep in ten minutes anyway._ He yawned and ambled down the hall, his bare feet making a soft slapping noise on the tile floor.  
  
"Damn fucking premonitions in the middle of the night," he grumbled. "Ruins my beauty sleep. He should find someone else to cling to, but no, I have be the only _sane_ adult around..."  
  
_:Schuldich...get your German ass in here!:_  
  
_:Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on.:_  
  
Pushing the door open with another yawn, Schuldich peered into the darkened room. Crawford was leaning back against the headboard, one trembling hand covering his eyes while the other clutched the wrinkled blankets as if they were his lifeline to the real world. With his hair mussed from sleep and his glasses missing, he looked more human...he looked...vulnerable.  
  
Schuldich felt a welling of unease. This had been a bad one.  
  
"You can come in, you know."  
  
_Here he is, at his weakest moment, with the same cold, sarcastic voice._ Schuldich snickered inwardly.  
  
"So?" The young German sneered, "What is it?"  
  
Crawford squinted and groped around the night table in search of his glasses. Placing them on his face and running his fingers through his hair to straighten it, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, studying the blue carpet.  
  
"Well?" Schuldich was getting impatient. There was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to go back to bed. He stifled yet another yawn and attempted a glare.  
  
"We have trouble." Crawford pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and squeezed his eyes shut as if he suffered from a massive headache. He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. Abruptly, he stood and walked stiffly to the small window. Pulling the blinds up with a jerk, he gazed down at the empty street. A lone car drove past, its struggling motor emitting a bored hollow sound that echoed through the many-storied building. Still standing near the door, Schuldich's unease tripled. It was rare, extremely rare, to see his leader acting so disheveled. Closing the blinds again, the American turned back to Schuldich.  
  
"Serious trouble."  
  
"I gathered that," Schuldich muttered, sarcasm edging its way into his voice, "But what, if I may be so forward to ask," he grinned ferally, "exactly _is_ our trouble?"  
  
"It appears that, unless we take immediate action, we will be recaptured by Prometheus."  
  
"What?!" Schuldich felt panic rush through his veins. _I'm not going back! Never, I'll die first!_ His fists clenched and his eyes gained a hunted look. His lips curled back in a feral grimace. "How do we change this? What do we have to do? We have to get out of here! I'll go get Nagi and Farfarello up and ready to go..."  
  
Schuldich turned and headed for the door, escape first and foremost in his mind. Anticipating his move, Crawford reached out and grabbed his arm. He swung him around and looked him in the eye.  
  
"It won't work that way. Not this time."  
  
Schuldich's breathing was harsh and his panic-tinged emerald eyes darted around the room as if he expected Readers to suddenly come pouring out of the walls and rip his soul from his body. Brad gave him a little shake to draw his attention back to him.   
  
"Listen! Calm down. I need you to get it together."  
  
Crawford watched as the young German took a few steady breaths and visibly gained control of his emotions. The look of panic was quickly replaced by a sour, irritated expression. One would think that he was just facing a minor inconvenience, but Crawford knew better. Inside, Schuldich was barely holding on to his sanity. Brad knew, despite his calm exterior, he felt the same way  
  
"So, fearless leader, how do we get out of this one?"  
  
Satisfied that he was back in control, Crawford released Schuldich.   
  
"Go and wake up Nagi and Farfarello," he said, "Tell them to get dressed as fast as possible and meet us in the conference room. We need to go over our options and find a way to fix this mess."  
  
Schuldich nodded, threw Crawford a wise-ass grin, and strode confidently out of the room.  
  
  
***************************************  
  
  
The late afternoon sun danced happily over the streets of Tokyo. School had just been let out for the day, and the streets bustled with people of all ages. A mother and her two daughters sat on a bench eating ice cream while a small group of teenage boys loudly argued about a recent soccer game. Down the street, a vendor was selling some of his questionable wares to an unsuspecting pair of young women. A suit clad businessman took a very late lunch on one of the outdoor tables of a small English styled café. He shouted into a cell phone while rifling through some papers in a briefcase. Bicycles darted everywhere, and countless cars bumped and snorted their way through the rush hour traffic.  
  
Standing quietly amid the bustle, Meng Siu watched everything with an almost obsessive interest. This is what he had missed. The people, the energy, the movement. But now, he found them all the more fascinating. His thoughts leaped from mind to mind, sensing every aura, and gauging the HPF level of everyone he saw. In the year and a half he had spent with the Prometheus Foundation, most of that unwillingly, he had been unable to step outside its walls. He knew he had missed the outside world, but until this moment, he had not quite realized just how much he had missed it.  
  
He would not miss it again. He would see an end to the Foundation, if it took every last living fiber in his body.  
  
A loud noise caused Siu to jerk his head around in alarm and tense his muscles. He quickly located the source of the noise, and relaxed. One of the little girls had dropped her ice cream, and was now wailing to her mother. He briefly smiled to himself, but the soft grin was quickly replaced by a nervous expression. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and his fingers twitched in longing for a cigarette. Cigarettes. Another freedom that had been denied him at the Foundation. Not that he smoked regularly, but right now he really needed something to calm his nerves, and alcohol was out of the question.  
  
On a sudden inspiration, Siu walked to the ice cream parlor where earlier he had watched the mother and her two children buy ice cream. Taking out a wallet he had "borrowed" from a rude pedestrian, he bought a double scoop of chocolate ice cream. He walked back to his quiet corner and proceeded to devour the cold treat as quickly as possible.  
  
Yes, he had definitely missed this.  
  
As he licked up his ice cream, his thoughts turned to the night before. He knew the reporter was dead, he had felt his life end as he raced away from certain capture. No doubt the papers were destroyed as well. Siu felt a sudden surge of guilt. He should never have gone to the newsman. Or maybe, he should have met with him in a very public place, where the Readers wouldn't dare to go. It was his fault the man was dead, as surely as if he had pulled the trigger himself.  
  
He finished the cone with an audible crunch, and decided to move on. He couldn't stay in any one place for too long, it would make the job of pinpointing his location all too easy. As he walked briskly down the crowded street, he noticed a group of three schoolgirls giggling over some joke. With a pang, he finally acknowledged the terrible emptiness in his soul. The one that should have been filled with his team members.  
  
He would go back for them. They deserved this as much as him. More, because they were just victims, while he had been as guilty as Sugimoto himself. Yes, he would find a way to free them. Colleen, Yves, and even that jerk Jasiri-ini.  
  
He should never have left them in the first place.  
  
  
***************************************  
  
  
"They found us _again!?_" Nagi's horrified whisper shattered the uncomfortable silence that had followed Crawford's statement that they would have to deal with the Foundation again. The four members of Schwartz, formerly known as the Alpha Quad, had gathered in the room that Crawford had affectionately dubbed "the conference room." In reality, it closely resembled a rec room that had been stripped of its pool table and dart board and had instead been fully equipped with two couches facing eachother over a coffee table and a softly humming computer snuggled against one wall.   
  
Brad sighed and slowly shook his head back and forth.  
  
"They have not found us yet, but I assure you, they will."  
  
"I don't want to run anymore," Nagi said desperately. "I thought they had forgotten about us."  
  
Schuldich chuckled harshly and growled, "Obviously the bastards haven't forgotten, and we have no fucking choice but to run."  
  
Sitting comfortably on the couch, Farfarello ignored the conversation. All of his attention was focused on the knife he was using to slowly whittle the coffee table into a pile of tinder, which, with luck, he would then light on fire. Maybe, if he was really lucky, Crawford would give him some marshmallows to burn over the fire. That would be almost as fun as putting them in the microwave and watching them explode...  
  
"Schuldich."  
  
The telepath snapped his head towards the sound of his name and raised his eyebrows.  
  
Crawford was staring off into space, his look thoughtful. "Is it possible for you to tell me what exactly our good friends Weiss are doing right at this moment?"  
  
"Of course I can, but why the hell-"  
  
"Just do it."  
  
Scowling in irritation, Schuldich plopped down on the couch. He resisted the urge to just read Crawford's thoughts. Brad would know he was doing it and there would be hell to pay. Best to just do what he asked and hope for an explanation afterward. His eyes slowly lost focus and in the following silence, Crawford gazed heavily at concentrating telepath, while Nagi fidgeted nervously and Farfarello calmly carved up the coffee table.  
  
Schuldich's eyes suddenly came in to focus, and he sighed and rubbed his head. Shit. He was going to develop one hell of a headache from _that_ little endeavor. Crawford's irritated voice broke the silence. "Well?"  
  
He stretched languidly and said, "Claw-boy is watching a soccer game, dart-boy is sleeping, katana-boy is feeling depressed over his sister and trying to fall asleep, and wire-boy is at a bar trying to get laid. A very typical Weiss night, if you ask me."  
  
Nagi looked at Crawford with a curious expression on his face. "Why did you want to know about Weiss?"  
  
"Because Prometheus is going to get them. I wanted to make sure that they hadn't _gotten_ them already."  
  
Both Schuldich's and Nagi's eyes widened in surprise, and even Farfarello turned to listen. Brad sighed and tapped his fingers on his leg, a sure sign to the others that he was upset.  
  
"If Prometheus gets Weiss, they will make them into another quad. And, if my vision is right, and they usually are, a Weiss with newly acquired psychic powers will be sent after us with the sole purpose of bringing us back. And if that happens, I don't think we will have a hope to escape."   
  
Brad Crawford pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and closely watched the reactions of his team mates. Farfarello thoughtfully returned to his slow but steady destruction of the coffee table. Nagi looked slightly confused, and also thoughtful. Schuldich looked as if he had eaten something sour. Suddenly, the German slammed his fist against the coffee table.  
  
"I know how to fix this!" he said.  
  
"How?" Nagi asked.  
  
A menacing grin spread across Schuldich's face. "We find Weiss faster than Prometheus," he spat the name, "and before they become a threat, we kill them."  
  
  
***************************************  
  
To be continued in Chapter 2: Ken's Encounter  
  
  
So, did you like it? Arg, its shorter than the prologue!! Oh well. Weiss finally shows up in the next chapter. I hope its not too OOC, and I hope you don't mind all of the original characters. '^_^' Anyway, I'm off to work on Chapter 2!


	3. Ken's Encounter (Ch 2)

Untitled Hey everyone! I'm really sorry this took so long, RL gave me a few swift kicks in the butt recently...I'm too pooped to write in all the warnings and disclaimers and stuff, so if you really want to read them, look at the ones on Chapter 1. This chapter is lovingly dedicated to GiGi and Kelda, without whom it probably would have never been written. Thanks guys! And now, on to the show. Enjoy!  
  
  
Prometheus  
  
Chapter 2  
  
Ken's Encounter  
  
  
  
The late afternoon sunshine sprinkled through the leaves like a soft drizzle of rain. The excited voices of children could be heard echoing around the mostly empty park. Younger children played in the sandbox and swings. Mothers and fathers sat on benches chatting quietly and watching their young ones. On the other side of the park, hidden from the rest of the world by a shield of trees, the older children played a lively game of soccer on a slightly overgrown field. Most had come that day with their parents and younger siblings, but had abandoned the "baby games" in lieu of something much more entertaining.  
  
"Ken-ni-chan!!!"  
  
"Look out, Ken-kun!!"  
  
"Ken! Ken! Pass the ball to me!"  
  
Rather than take the ball all the way down the field and score a goal, as he very well could have, ex-soccer champion Ken Hidaka instead passed the ball, with exaggerated clumsiness, to one of his much younger team-mates. "Go for the goal, Izumi!"  
  
"Haaa~iii!" shrieked the girl before pelting the ragged ball in the general direction of their opponent's goalie. Ken slowed his pace to fall slightly behind the over-exuberant child. Izumi passed the ball back to him, and he pretended to trip over it. Gales of childish laughter rent the air as he hovered for a second over the errant soccer ball and then landed with a resounding thump on the grass. One of the members of the opposing team, a young boy named Takehiro, started the ball towards the other goal. Izumi peered down at Ken and asked, "Are you alright, Ken-san?"  
  
"Hai, Izumi-chan, avenge me! They're getting away!"  
  
Izumi nodded with a serious expression that only a ten year old could have and tore down the field after the treacherous ball. Soon she had it back and was racing towards the goal. Ken sat up and rubbed his bottom ruefully. The things he would do to hear the laughter of children! He spared a quick glance around the soccer field. The parents of these kids trusted him to keep an eye on them, and besides that he would die if he let anything happen to any of them. A shadow of movement in the bushes behind the goal caught his eye, and he stood quickly, his assassin senses in hyper drive. He headed towards the goal at a quick jog. Izumi gave the ball one last powerful kick and it cannoned past the goalie and hit the net with a resounding whoosh.  
  
"Wai!" she cried, throwing her arms up in glee.  
  
The shadow solidified and seemed to detach from the low hanging shrubs and sped towards the girl. Ken's jog turned into a desperate dash and he yelled, "Izumi!! RUN!"  
  
Izumi, without bothering to look behind her, ran. She could see the horrified look on her Ken-ni-chan's face, and knew that whatever was behind her was one of those monsters that her ouka-san had told her didn't exist.  
  
As Ken neared the girl he got a good glimpse of the child-sized creature also closing in on her.  
  
And nearly fell over. Creature was right. The thing certainly wasn't a _normal_ human. It vaguely reminded him of a bird with all of its feathers plucked out. Only somehow more humanoid. This was all the observation he got before he caught Izumi up in a rolling tackle and pulled her out of the way of that...that..._thing._  
  
He flung her towards the playgrounds and yelled at her to run again. He jerked himself around to see the monster, _Yes, monster is the word,_ he thought, go chasing after another one of the children. Panic gripped his heart and he took off in hot pursuit. Just before it reached the boy, Ken dove for its feet. The thing turned on him in an instant and sunk its claws..._since when did it have claws?!_...into his arm and emitted an ear-splitting shriek. Ken twisted it away from the boy and wrapped his fingers around its neck.  
  
_I wish I had my bugnuks..._  
  
_:nononononononononono...:_  
  
"What the hell was that?!" Ken gasped as he tightened his grip on the creature's throat. He could feel the larynx and trachea begin to cave in under the pressure of his fingers. The creature howled brokenly and snapped at his face.   
  
_:NO!:_  
  
The next thing he knew he was lying on the ground looking up at the sky wondering what had hit him. He heard movement next to him and gathered all of his strength to roll over. The…thing…was scrambling to its feet, its grotesque tongue hanging from its limp jaws. As if sensing Ken's gaze on it, the creature turned its eerie eyes on him. He felt a cold chill start at the base of his spine and spread over his entire body. He knew that if the _thing_ wanted to kill him, he would be dead.  
  
_:you...one...:_  
  
He felt a soft caress on his mind, blinked, and then the _thing_ was gone. Utterly, completely gone. Ken gathered his arms underneath him and pushed himself into a sitting position. His lip curled in pain. Kisama! He hurt all over. There was an especially painful feeling in his arm.  
  
_Oh yeah, that _thing _clawed me there..._Dazed, Ken suddenly became aware of the sound of soft sobbing. He felt small yet strong arms wrap around his waist and looked down to see a brown head buried in his shoulder. "I...Izumi?"  
  
"Ken...Ken-ni...are you okay?"  
  
"I thought I told you to run."  
  
"I _did_ run, but then I came back. Ken-ni, you're bleeding..."  
  
Ken hugged her and then pulled himself to his feet. _I feel like I've been hit by a truck..._  
  
"I'm fine, Izumi. Let's get you to your father."  
  
Hand in hand, they limped slowly toward the playground were all of the other children, screaming about monsters, had already gone. As they neared the edges of the trees, several fathers who looked very ready to defend their little ones burst into the field. One that Ken recognized as Izumi's father ran over to them and scooped his daughter up into his arms. Ken swayed a little. He still felt incredibly unsteady after the wallop he had gotten from that _thing_, plus a massive headache was gathering right behind his eyes. He felt a strong arm steadying him and looked up to see Izumi's father holding onto his shoulder.  
  
"Are you okay kid? You're bleeding."  
  
"So I've been told." Ken wrapped his fingers around his slightly bleeding arm. He had had much worse than this before. "I'm fine, Mr. Takuto."  
  
"Daddy, Ken-ni-chan saved me from the monster!!"  
  
"What was it? The kids were screaming about a monster."  
  
"I don't know, maybe it escaped from the zoo or something..." Ken's vision dimmed and he felt Mr. Takuto's grip tighten.  
  
"Easy, kid! Are you sure you're alright? Should I take you to a hospital? Maybe it was poisonous!"  
  
"No, no, it's fine, I'll just walk home..."  
  
"Nonsense! You saved my little girl! I'm taking you to a doctor, and that's final."  
  
Ken was about to protest and decided that he just didn't have the strength. He needed to tell the rest of Weiss about that thing, but he supposed it could wait an hour while he got patched up. Sighing, he followed Izumi and her father to their car.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Reader number 358 raced from shadow to shadow, easily avoiding any contact with the many humans it passed. To them it was little more than flickering darkness, a blur at the furthest edges of their vision. As night finally fell, it reached its destination, the prestigious Prometheus Foundation, and, with the barest whisper of sound, crawled into the opening to the sewers beneath the building. It neared its home, and paused outside the door, clutching at its crushed throat. Reader number 358 had already forgotten its earlier brush with death, its memory was not designed to house such simple things, but that did not mean that the pain from its wound did not exist. Now, that pain and the all-consuming need to relay the information about the jenus psychic that had caused it were the only things residing in the simple creature's mind. With a garbled chirp, it made its way inside.  
  
_:master...:_  
  
"Yes, 358?"  
  
_:...tagged...jenus...:_  
  
The creature debased itself before its lord. A high pitched whine escaped its destroyed vocal cords. The master would fix its wounds, stop its pain, the master could do anything...  
  
A voice filled with utmost gentleness cried, "My child, my poor child..." Reader number 358 found itself suddenly scooped into a loving embrace and a hand softly stroked its ruined neck. "There, babe," the master said, running his hands over the creature's grotesque features.   
  
_:fix it...: _ 358 pleaded. _:hurts...:_  
  
"I know," the master said, choking back a dry sob, "I know it hurts. I'll make it stop, I promise."   
  
_:find...jenus...tagged...:_  
  
"Hush now, love. I will take care of everything." Reader number 358 whimpered softly and snuggled into its master's embrace. With tears running down his face, the master did the only humane thing, and quickly snapped the neck of his child, killing it instantly. He lovingly lifted the lifeless body in his arms, and carried it over to a corner of the room, where he laid it down with utmost care. He would see to the funeral later.  
  
He dried his tears and pushed his grief to the back of his mind. Now was not the time for sorrow, now was the time for business. The master returned to his seat on his throne. If only the scanner from Beta Quad hadn't escaped. He would have been able to locate the tagged psychic within minutes, and as an added bonus, tell him the exact HPF level as well as the general area he lived and whether or not he had jenus level friends...  
  
The master's musings were cut short by the return of Readers number 217 and 453. The two once human creatures rubbed their jaws together in some bizarre display of affection. Suddenly, twin howls of grief erupted as they sensed the demise of their sibling. After a few minutes, the wails quieted, and they turned again to their master, the memory of their pack-mate already slipping from their minds.  
  
"Now, you two, I want you to find this tagged psychic. When you do, follow him to his home. Then, come back and inform me. Understand?"  
  
They twittered their agreement, and loped out of the room to begin their search. Yoshitomo Sugimoto, the god of the Readers, grinned with resigned evil. The game had just gotten much more interesting.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Ken climbed out of the car with a muffled groan. The flower shop looked ominously dark and forbidding. He turned to the driver's side window and said, "Thanks, Mr. Takuto."  
  
The man grinned. "No problem kid, and thank _you_. You're a real hero, you know."  
  
Ken, extremely embarrassed, rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I...uh..."  
  
Mr. Takuto laughed. He gripped Ken's uninjured hand and shook it vigorously. "We had better get going, it's pretty late. See you around, and take care of yourself, you hear?"  
  
"I will, Mr. Takuto! Goodbye!"  
  
Ken watched the car pull away from the shop and turned towards the door, sighing. Aya was going to kill him. He had had no idea that the wait at the doctor's would be so long. He was extremely late. Aya was going to nag him, he just knew it.  
  
_Well, might as well face the gauntlet._ He pushed open the door and stepped in.  
  
"Where the hell have you been?"  
  
_Wow, that was fast..._Irritation warred with exhaustion. Irritation won. He carefully closed the door behind him, leaned back on it, and snapped, "The hospital."  
  
"What were you doing in the hospital?" Aya scowled.  
  
Omi appeared behind Aya rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had been woken up from his position on the couch, where he had fell asleep while waiting for Ken to get home. He caught the tail end of the conversation. Slightly alarmed, he gave Ken a look over.   
  
He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. He was pale, and shaking. Ken held his left arm in one hand. When he shifted, he moved stiffly, as if he was really sore from a hard workout.  
  
"Ken, are you alright?" _He looks like shit..._  
  
"Ken, you look like shit."  
  
Omi jumped. "Jeez, Youji! Don't sneak up on people like that!"  
  
Youji grinned.  
  
"I'm alright," Ken said as he pushed himself off the door and headed past his team-mates towards the kitchen. He was so thirsty! He needed a drink.  
  
Omi followed close behind, intent on mother-henning him to death.  
  
"Why were you at the hospital? Are you sure you're alright? You look..."  
  
"Like shit," Youji finished. Omi shot him a look.  
  
Aya silently followed the three into the kitchen. They watched with concern as Ken filled and drank three large glasses of water then sagged against the counter with an exhausted sigh. Their worry heightened as he stumbled past them as if they weren't there and practically collapsed onto one of the kitchen chairs.  
  
"Ken..." Omi started.  
  
"I'm fine," he said. Ken was finding it hard to concentrate. His headache was worse, the pain-killers the doctor had given him weren't working in it, and he was incredibly tired.  
  
"Ken," Omi was getting exasperated, "Why were you at the hospital?"  
  
Ken sighed. _The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can go to bed. I hope they don't think I've gone insane..._  
  
Ken laid his throbbing head on the table and began to tell them about his rather odd day.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"...and so, because of that car wreck with the bus, the emergency room was already pretty full. Mr. Takuto wouldn't let me leave until I'd seen a doctor, so we waited…for hours…I finally saw one, and he patched me up…then I came home and…well you know the rest." Ken shrugged tiredly. "But I still have no idea what that _thing_ was." The looks on his friend's faces ranged from extreme irritation (Aya), to mild disbelief (Youji), to concerned curiosity (Omi).  
  
Aya growled under his breath and said to Youji, "Contact Manx. She may know something about what the hell is going on. Omi, get on the computer and find everything and anything that might be related to this. Ken..."  
  
"Ken should be in bed," Omi interrupted, "He looks just about ready to die."  
  
"Yeah," A grin curled Youji's lips, "He _really_ looks like shit."  
  
Ken shot Youji a scowl and muttered, "Gee, thanks."  
  
"Fine," Aya snapped. "I'm taking him upstairs. You two, get to work." Youji and Omi nodded sharply and headed off to their respective destinations. Aya turned back to Ken to meet a glare almost as dark as his.  
  
"I'm not a baby," Ken growled, unsteadily pulling himself to his feet, "I can get upstairs on my own."  
  
As he stood, the blood drained from his face and he broke out in a cold sweat. The world seemed to spin around him, but he never broke his gaze from Aya's.  
  
Aya met him glare for glare, and asked, "Ken, are you going to faint?"  
  
"What?" Ken sputtered, "I...no! I'm not going to...that's ridiculous..." The spinning room accelerated, and Ken gulped dryly and clung to the table to keep from falling over. "Well...maybe..." he conceded.  
  
Aya sighed in exasperation and pulled Ken's uninjured arm over his shoulders and slipped his own around the young soccer player's waist. The pair slowly made their way up the stairs. Aya was sure Ken had some kind of concussion, but according to him, the doctor could find nothing at all wrong with his head. He grunted angrily, kicked open the door to Ken's room, and all but carried him in.  
  
Aya eased the mostly unconscious Ken onto the bed and began to remove his shoes. That done, he yanked the covers back with a violent jerk and maneuvered the younger assassin under them. He didn't quite have the courage to change Ken into his pajamas. Not yet, anyway.  
  
Ken murmured, "Thanks, Aya," then sighed and slipped into a deep, healing sleep.  
  
Allowing a rare expression of affection to grace his features, the katana-wielding redhead pulled the blankets up to Ken's chin. He then stepped back and peered down at his teammate. Though he would never admit it to anyone, not even himself, Aya enjoyed watching Ken sleep.  
  
An odd feeling crept into his stomach as he stared at Ken. With his chocolate hair whisping around his face and the pale pallor of his skin, Ken's resemblance to Aya's comatose sister was eerie. He pushed the feeling aside. Now was not the time for such sentimentalities. Someone, or _something_, had hurt one of their own.  
  
Retribution would be swift and final.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
To be continued in Chapter 3: Sui's Decision  
  
  
Gah, I'm glad that's over. Today's my birthday! -_- Chapter 3 will be up much faster than this was, I promise. I hope you guys liked it. Anyway, I'm going to go play with my present now. See ya later!


	4. Siu's Decision (Ch 3)

P: SIu's Decision

Hey guys! I did manage to get this one out faster, but it's still awfully late. I'm just a really slow writer, sorry. Anyway, here you go!

Prometheus

Chapter 3: Siu's Decision

by Elisia Ware

  
  


Jeannie Anderson was completely, hopelessly, lost.

It wasn't terribly surprising to the exchange student, she tended to get lost just about anywhere. But now she was stuck walking the streets of Tokyo, and truth be told, her Japanese was terrible.

She and her fellow American students had just arrived in Japan the afternoon before. Incredibly jetlagged, all five of them had barely even unpacked before crashing into their beds in exhausted slumber. They had slept most of the night through, but thanks to their internal clocks, which were still set to New York time, had woken up at about four in the morning. One of the more restless members of the group, a cute boy named Tony (she thought that name was so sexy!), had suggested that they go for an early morning walk. Perhaps get their first real Japanese meal. The others had agreed, and they were all dressed up and on their way by 5:30. 

Now here it was, nearly 6:00 in the morning, and Jeannie had no idea where she was, let alone where the rest of her friends might be. She looked up and down the street nervously. She supposed she could stop someone and ask them how to get to her hotel in garbled Japanese…but she just didn't have the courage yet. 

_Besides_, she thought to herself, _they're probably just around this corner..._

She paused at an intersection, thankful that she was short. It was bad enough that she was so obviously western, at least she didn't tower over everybody like Tony did. The light changed colors, and everybody started across the crowded road. Not sure where to go, Jeannie simply followed the crowd. People from the other side of the busy street pushed past her in their hurry to get to wherever it was they were going. She was walking with her head down, but about halfway across, she glanced up. Straight into a pair of haunted, amber eyes. 

It was as if the world stopped. 

The odd eyes flickered over, past, then back to Jeannie. It was as if they saw through her, into her. The eyes blinked, and the spell was broken. The world began to turn again, the oblivious people resumed their trek across the crusty street. Jeannie's feet continued along their path of their own accord. She searched the oncoming faces for those odd golden eyes, and found none. _I probably imagined the whole thing_, she thought. 

Another person brushed against her, only this time, the young man, barely taller than she was, gently tugged her arm and said in correct but heavily accented English, "Excuse me, but I believe you are headed in the wrong direction." 

"What?" she said, her eyes widening in surprise. 

"The place you are looking for, it's this way." He gave her a tired grin, absently ran his fingers through his shaggy black hair, and tugged on her arm a bit more. She saw with relief that his eyes were a dark hazel, not gold. 

"Oh," she mumbled. She turned and followed him back to her original side of the road. There he stopped, glanced up and down the sidewalks, and then pointed back the way she had come. 

"Keep going that way," he said softly, "and turn left after two blocks. Another block down is your friends." 

"Thanks!" she cried. She smiled happily and took off down the sidewalk. 

"Bye, Jeannie." he called after her before turning slowly and heading in the opposite direction. His step was brisk, and every now and then he would throw a nervous glance over his hunched shoulder. 

It wasn't until Tony and the others were in sight that she realized that she hadn't told him her name. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Omi yawned and stretched under his covers. He did not want to wake up. His neck was stiff, his head hurt, and his eyes felt like they were full of sand. 

_That's what you get when you stay up all night on the computer following dead ends_, he thought grumpily. 

He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. The soft morning light, tinged blue from his hanging curtains, played over the ceiling and walls. Omi watched a lazily circling fly for a few minutes before sighing and sitting up. There was no getting back to sleep now. 

Yawning, he pulled on the first clean clothes he could find and made a beeline for the kitchen. What he needed was a nice cup of coffee. Or two. Maybe three. He pushed open the kitchen door and came face to face with a grinning Ken. 

"Good morning!" Ken chirped, "I made breakfast!" 

Horrified at the thought of Ken cooking, Omi didn't protest as Ken lead him out of the kitchen and back to the table, where he pushed a hot cup into his hands and placed a plate full of eggs and toast in front of him. 

"You look a lot better," Omi mumbled, giving the food in front of him the evil eye. 

"Yup!" Ken smiled and stretched happily. "All I needed was a good night's sleep," he said before retreating to the kitchen. At that moment Youji ambled in. He plopped down next to Omi, and without a word, pulled the warm plate of breakfast over and picked up the fork. 

Omi watched in alarm as Youji scooped up a forkful of eggs and shoved them into his mouth, munching happily. Youji caught Omi's shocked look and asked, "What?" 

Omi gulped and said, "Ken made that." 

"Really?" Youji replied, staring down at his plate and chewing thoughtfully. "It's edible! You know, that thing he saw must have been and alien or something, and now it's controlling him, like that old movie, Invasion of the Body Catchers." 

"Snatchers." Omi carefully sipped his coffee, and when he didn't immediately slip into a coma, took a larger drink. 

"What?"

"They were 'Body _Snatchers_.'"

"Whatever. Anyway, these alien things have taken over what little mind Ken has, and they're after us next!! I say," he paused to take a bite out of his toast, "we get the hell out of Dodge."

"What? Where's Dodge?"

"It's just a saying, Omi."

Their conversation was interrupted by Ken's decidedly bouncy return. "Ohayo, Youji!" he said with a grin. "I'm going for a walk, you two, tell Aya when the lazy-bones gets in. Bye!" With that he turned and bounced out of the room.

The two stared after him for a few minutes, then calmly return to their respective breakfasts. Ten minutes later, Aya shuffled in, looking like he hadn't slept a wink. 

Omi smiled brightly and said, "Youji thinks Ken's been brainwashed by aliens." 

The tired redhead cast one incredulous glance at the smirking Youji, then turned with an irritated grunt and headed back upstairs. Sometimes it just didn't pay to get out of bed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was an absolutely beautiful morning. Birds were singing, children were laughing, and Meng Siu had done his first good deed in two years. 

_Using my powers to help people, he thought with a slight smile, who would have thought it felt so good?_

Scanning had become habit by now. His mind leaped from person to person, learning many things about them, secrets, names, things like that. Oddly enough, many of these "feelings" came across as scents. A woman, who he knew had just discovered she was pregnant, smelled of creamy butterscotch, and the smell of disappointment wafted from a businessman who had recently lost an important deal. Jeannie's distress had been like a beacon, smelling strongly of sweat and rust. As he had gotten closer, he had known instantly her name, where she was from, and where her friends were. He also knew that she liked Tony, and that her parents had a dog named Peaches. 

He had been tense all morning, but after helping the lost American, his nervousness had eased as the day went on. Now he felt as if he was walking on air. He had escaped from Prometheus, and had already evaded recapture once. Would it be so hard to do it again? After all, the Alpha Quad had done it for years… 

_Yes_, a voice whispered in his head, _but they are a complete quad. Face it, you were incredibly lucky both times. You know you're worthless without the others._

Siu winced at the sharp pang he felt whenever he thought of his quad-mates. His soul felt so empty without them near. He wondered absently if they felt the same with him gone. Probably not, he decided, after all, they still have each other.

His thoughts returned to the Alpha Quad. They were around, he could feel it. Every now and then he could catch a trace of the sensation that only stabilized psychics left. He could pick it up on the breeze like a pleasant odor. They were close. Oh, how he wanted to find them. He needed allies again, and if they had stayed hidden for so long, perhaps they could help him. But first he had to find them, and it wasn't going to be easy. 

He wasn't sure they would let him find them. 

Siu knew with out a doubt that the pre-cog_...Brad..._the name came unbidden and caught him off guard. _Brad?_ He thought. Yes, the pre-cog's name was Brad. He shook his head slowly back and forth. He doubted that he would ever get used to this part of his "gift" from Sugimoto. Sometimes, he just _knew_ things. 

Anyway, he was sure Brad would know he was coming long before he got there. 

Siu's attention abruptly switched gears. The sickeningly sharp feeling of a Reader inched its way into his mind. He nearly gagged at the almost overwhelming smell of decay. He spun around, eyes leaping from person to person as he tried to locate the origin of the mental scent. 

_The people at the candy shop? ...No. Not the couple making out behind that tree, not the guy sweeping the walk in front of the book shop...There!_

His gaze landed on a brown-haired boy, a few years younger than Siu himself was, who was fairly skipping down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He followed the cheery teenager with his eyes for a few moments before beginning pursuit as discreetly as possible. 

_Soccer_, his mind told him as he got closer, _he plays soccer...and...blood, lots and lots of blood...let's see...HPF level...well, now I know why he's been marked by a Reader..._

He was now only half a block behind the soccer-playing boy, and bits of information began to pop up in his mind. _His name is...Ken Hidaka...he lives with...three other boys. He works in a flowershop...Siberian...Siberian...I wonder what that means?_

The fugitive from Prometheus was at a loss. It was obvious to him that this boy had met somehow with a Reader, who had marked him as a jenus psychic to be picked up for stabilization. Only the fact that Sugimoto no longer had Siu to track this marked psychic had kept the boy from being taken already. 

Now Siu had two choices. He could try to save this soccer-playing florist, which would more than likely lead to his own capture. Or he could move on, pretend he never saw him, and continue his search for the Alpha Quad. 

_I really am a fool_, he thought. Against his better judgement, he decided to do what he could to help the soon to be victim, as well as his three room-mates, which Siu knew were also on the list to be taken. 

Siu suddenly noticed that aside from the rotten smell of the Reader and the clean, earthy smell that seemed to be…what was his name? Oh, yes. Ken. …that seemed to be Ken's personal scent, there was a crisp taste of oranges that was mingled with the slightly metallic flavor of a stabilized psychic. 

Had Ken come in contact with one of Sugimoto's psychics? Siu doubted it. Not only did he know the scent of every single psychic in the Foundation, but if one had gotten close enough to leave such a strong feeling, then Ken would have been captured already. No, this was something different. 

_Could it possibly be...? But I can't think of anything else..._

Following Ken closer, Siu tried to pick up more of the orange smell. Slowly, he began to learn more of the man it came from. _German, it's the telepath, then...he was...annoyed...and worried? Schwartz...its not the Alpha Quad anymore, they're Schwartz...but why was he checking up on this kid? _

Siu considered the possibility that they monitered the jenus psychics in the area, then discarded it. There had to be another reason. Perhaps the pro-cog, Brad, knew something he didn't? 

_Chances are_, he thought, _he'll lead me to them. But that means he'll lead the Foundation to them too…_ His jaw tightened and his resolve firmed. If and when Ken met up with Schwartz, he would be there. With a little determination and a lot of luck, maybe he could save them all. 

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To be continued in Chapter 4: Nagi Takes a Stand. 


End file.
